Crave (Crave, #1)

by Tracy Wolff

“civil twilight”

moat,

He has the kind of face nineteenth-century poets loved to

write about—too intense to be beautiful and too striking to be anything else. Skyscraper cheekbones. Full red lips. A jaw so sharp it could cut stone. Smooth, alabaster skin. And his eyes…a bottomless obsidian that see everything and show nothing, surrounded by the longest, most obscene lashes I’ve ever seen. And even worse, those all-knowing eyes are laser-focused on me right now, and I’m suddenly terrified that he can see all the things I’ve worked so hard and so long to hide. I try to duck my head, try to yank my gaze from his, but I can’t. I’m trapped by his stare, hypnotized by the sheer magnetism rolling off him in waves. I swallow hard to catch my breath. It doesn’t work. And now he’s grinning, one corner of his mouth turning up in a crooked little smile that I feel in every single cell. Which only makes it worse, because that smirk says he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on me.

“There’s not much to be afraid of when you’ve already lost everything that matters.”